


Just a Floor Away

by ktfranceebee



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, New York City, Post-Canon Fix-It, Red String of Fate, essentially
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-06-20 05:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15527508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktfranceebee/pseuds/ktfranceebee
Summary: Twelve years after graduating from high school, newly divorced Kurt Hummel is quite content to focus on his career at Vogue and get used to his single life at his new apartment. Meanwhile, Dave Karofsky has quit his job at the Times to follow dreams of his own. These two will discover that while Fate has caught up with their lives, Chance has it all planned.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, I'm finally cross-posting from ff.net to Ao3. I wanted to wait until I finished the fic before I did that, but with about 43 planned chapters, who knows when that would be. If this is your first time reading, I hope you enjoy!

It was nineteen-past-two in the morning when the realization that he was finally finished struck him. It might have taken him months to complete, but it was a worthwhile process and one he never thought he would accomplish if it hadn't been for the one person who believed in him the most.

Dave breathed out an exhausted, if not elated, sigh. The kind of sigh that someone breathes after having learned that a loved one's surgery goes successfully; the kind of sigh preceded by a whoop and holler upon witnessing the final, winning touchdown, free throw, or the epic slide into home plate by the team one may have placed a particularly large bet on. It held all the relief—all of the happiness and triumph—attributed to a feat once believed to be unachievable. After months of struggle, staring at a blank, white, wordless page… He finally did it.

Dave leaned forward in his desk chair, propping his chin upon his knuckles as he held the "up" key on the keyboard in front of him with his other hand. He watched as thousands upon thousands of lines consisting of black text blurred together as it flew across the screen. Once he reached the top of the very first page, he stared at the title. Or at least… Where the title  _should_  be.

This story— _their_ story—as long a tale to tell did not give him nearly as much grief as the title. A few, simple words were all that was necessary. But the title needed to be eye-catching… Interesting. It needed to sum up the story concisely, but still prompt the reader to question its meaning until they were able to make a generous dent in its contents.

Dave clicked the end of the very first line as he watched the cursor blink tauntingly at him and then the door creaked behind him.

He didn't turn around. The small office was completely black, save for the ethereal glow from the laptop, but the ominous sound of the door hinge gave him no reason to be fearful, though it did result in him making a mental note to pick up some WD-40 the next time he went to the store.

Dave slipped off his reading glasses, laying them gently on the desk, as he heard the soft, weary shuffle of footsteps, as well as a sleepy yawn.

"Do you plan on coming to bed before the sun comes up, or do you plan on jerking off some more?"

Dave snorted, rubbing his eyes, which burned with exhaustion, as he leaned back in the swivel chair.

"Shut up. That was a long time ago. And you were sick for a week." He groaned in mortification upon remembering the embarrassing incident all too well.

"I'm not sick now," the voice purred. Hands slid down his chest as arms wrapped around his neck. Lips that seemed to have no place of origin found themselves attached to his neck. Dave groaned as teeth gently nipped at his skin, traveling up until the warm breath tickled his face and he could practically hear the bristling of the lips upon the scruff on his cheek in the stillness of the night.

"I'll have you know that I was very productive tonight," Dave feigned offense as he lifted a hand to clasp those wrapped securely around his neck, but had to stifle a gasp as one of the cold hands slipped out from under his grasp and slid past the hem of his collared shirt, the first three buttons having already been popped open from their shenanigans from earlier that same evening.

"Really now?" The voice whispered in his ear.

Dave couldn't help the smile that stretched across his face, unseen by the man behind him.

"Kurt... I finished it."


	2. The Newcomer in Room #603

" _Alas, by the time Fate caught up with my life, Chance had it all planned." –Robert Brault_

**oOo**

**Friday, 10 August 2024**

The sun in the cloudless afternoon sky was sweltering, reflecting dazzlingly off of the colossal New York City skyscrapers. The heat wave that year was one for the record books and it certainly wasn't doing any favors for one Kurt Hummel. Kurt never imagined he would yearn for winter to come that year, in toe with the dirty slush that accumulated in the gutters, below freezing temperatures, as well as the knee-length sweaters that he still had stashed away on the uppermost shelf in his closet. That day, he opted for more functional, rather than fashionable, attire: a pair of frayed and tattered Capri pants, ratty, white slip-on Vans, and his Marc Jacobs, dip-dyed striped shirt. He felt as though he better resembled a rather  _green_  college student instead of an associate editor of the world's most influential fashion magazine, but despite his casual attire, the weather was still too hot for the type of exertion his body had to endure. He tried not to notice the bead of sweat that started to slide down the back of his neck and under his collar as he wavered on the spot, having picked up the cumbersome cardboard box that he managed to scoot and kick with his foot towards the edge of the rental moving truck.

After staggering towards the door to the apartment, Kurt let out a disgruntled moan as he attempted to stretch his hand over the enormous box topped with both the keys to the truck and the keys to his apartment on a separate ring. He wiggled his fingers futilely, hoping that at least one of the digits would come in contact with the metal handle of the door leading to the lobby entrance of his new apartment building, but no such luck. Instead, he merely teetered dangerously on the one foot he was standing on as his other leg bent upwards, supporting the weight of the box on his thigh and under his chin.

"Come on," Kurt muttered through gritted teeth, putting his foot back down on the concrete after adjusting his grip. Perhaps Rachel had been right when she said to hire movers. She even offered to send Finn down to help him with his things. But  _no_ , he said… _He_  could handle it. After all, his new furniture had been delivered a few days earlier and now he just had to worry about his personal belongings.

Just as Kurt was about to give up and set the box down to open the door, he heard a voice and suddenly the door was opening on its own accord. He quickly backed away from the path of the door so he wouldn't get hit and he looked around in confusion.

"Judging by fact that you didn't notice the automatic door opener, I take it you're just moving in."

Kurt turned his head towards the pleasantly amused voice as he blew away the strands of hair that were falling into his eyes since having deflated from its hairstyle from the heat. Next to the pair of doors stood a woman who couldn't have been that older than him—thirty-six, at the most.

Being as gay as a two dollar bill didn't keep him from appreciating how stunning she was, either, with her glowing, olive skin and gold-flecked, hazel eyes. Mahogany locks framed her thin, angular face and her sun-kissed bangs flew away from her shapely eyebrows.

"Here I thought it was the enormous box that gave me away," Kurt joked with a good-natured chuckle as he moved, gratefully, into the air-conditioned lobby. He moved aside once he made it through the threshold. As she followed him in he added, "Or maybe the moving truck."

"Yeah, that would be it." She laughed along with him, her long but demure nose scrunching up before her mouth took the form of a circle and her eyes filled with concern. Their jovial, unbridled banter made it seem like they were old acquaintances.

"Do you need help with that?" She motioned with her hand towards the box. "It looks really heavy."

Kurt shook his head as he grimaced from the ache in his arms but politely declined her offer.

"That's really kind of you, but I don't think you're dressed for moving boxes. I really appreciate it, though." Kurt glanced down at her long, cream-colored dress pants, flowy, floral shirt, and her shiny gold pumps.  _'Manolo Blahniks,'_ Kurt noted, practically drooling over the shoes.  _'Very nice.'_

She would have been a head and a half shorter than Kurt if it wasn't for the five inches of heel added to her height. He couldn't imagine how much easier it would be on him had she helped him with the box based on her sheer size alone, heels or not. She was quite petite and he was having trouble holding it himself.

"But I would be incredibly grateful if you could get the elevator for me," he propositioned as they strode towards the elevator, her heels clicking smartly on the geometric tiled floor.

"Of course," the woman said, pressing the  _up_  button between the two elevators. She looked at Kurt's undoubtedly disheveled complexion, but sympathetically instead of judgmentally. She let out another laugh as she took a step back from the shiny, silver doors.

"I um… Actually wasn't referring to  _me_ , though," she spoke up with a wrinkle of her nose. "I was going to say I could probably drag my cousin down to help you with your stuff. He's a big guy. Actually," she tapped her chin contemplatively. "I bet he would  _jump_  at the chance to help you." The corners of her thin lips twitched up. Kurt wasn't sure what else to make of her comment other than it must have an inside joke between her and this cousin of hers.

"That's really sweet of you, but I'm sure I can manage." He shifted the box towards his left hip, allowing his right arm to rest. "So I take it you're just visiting?" Kurt asked, and the elevator chimed as the doors slid open.

"Yes. I live on the edge of town. I'm just here to see my cousin. He's on the seventh floor." For some reason, she didn't press the number  _7,_ but asked, "What floor do you need?"

"Six, please," Kurt breathed thankfully, and she pressed the button.

As the elevator lurched to life, Kurt asked, attempting to make light conversation, "Have you and your cousin lived here long?"

"Oh, yes," the woman began to say. "Well… I lived in New York for as long as I can remember. But my cousin, though… He moved here and stayed with my family when he was about seventeen… eighteen…" She grimaced slightly. "School problems, y'know?"

"Ah," Kurt emitted, turning to stare back at his reflection over the box, and with a sigh, he softly added, "If only we all were that lucky." His companion nodded sadly in understanding as he recalled his high school years, wishing he could have had a means to escape. He could be grateful, at least, for the sanctuary that the Glee Club provided and how his time at McKinley seemed a bit brighter towards the end. He could only hope the same could be said about his companion's cousin as well.

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened once more. Just as Kurt was about to thank her for her help, she stepped out with him.

"I can help you into your apartment if you'd like? It's gotta be easier than you having to struggle with the box and your keys."

"You really don't have to," Kurt said apologetically, feeling guilty despite the fact that she was the one to offer her help. "I don't want to keep you."

"It's fine," she said assuredly, waving him off as they began to set off down the long hallway. She had a strange way at making Kurt feel better, making him feel relaxed and welcome, despite the fact that she wasn't a tenant of the building herself, and he had to wonder if this was a trait she used on a daily basis, such as in her career. "I'm sure he won't mind. Actually…" Whatever she wanted to say made her shake her head, reconsidering it. "No, never mind." Kurt looked at her curiously as they stopped in front of his door.

"What is it?"

The woman sighed. "No, no way. It sounds way too forward."

"Please," Kurt said, rolling his eyes. "This is New York. If it doesn't involve a slap on the ass in a crowded subway then I think we can rule out  _'forward'_."

"Okay," she sighed, as though knowing she would regret what she was about to say. "I was going to ask if you were seeing anybody."

"Um…" Kurt started, resisting the urge to laugh. He bit his lip instead. "I'm really flattered, and you're incredibly nice and gorgeous, but I'm interested in men."

"Oh… Oh, God, no…" she laughed, covering her mouth as she blushed. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned being 'forward' as I didn't mean for  _me,_ per se." She covered her face in her hands, flustered.

"I know you're gay… I mean… Wow, I really shouldn't have assumed though, but…" she sobered up, as she waved her left hand, showing off the ring on her finger.

"I'm married," she said. "I was actually referring to my cousin. He's um… Well. He's seeing somebody, but I'm sure had he met you months ago he would have ditched his asshole of a boyfriend in a heartbeat." Kurt suddenly realized what she meant and he felt his cheeks heat up. Never had anyone tried to set him up before and by a stranger no less.

"I'm always trying to set him up with someone new since he has a terrible penchant for choosing guys who are completely wrong for him. You on the other hand… Somehow you manage to embody his "type" sans the stick up the ass. I can't really explain it. Something just tells me you two would really hit it off." When she noticed that they had stood outside Kurt's apartment for an extended period, she pointed at the keys on top of the box.

"Are these your keys?"

Kurt looked at her a bit shell-shocked and dazed after her tirade. Shaking his head out of his reverie, he nodded, "The biggest one is to the apartment, and um…" He chortled as he half smiled and frowned, contemplating the compliment that was hidden in her little speech. "That's very… Generous of you?" he said, referring more to her proposal rather than to her wanting to open the door for him.

She laughed as she unlocked Kurt's door and pushed it open. When he entered the large living room area, he set the box down on the coffee table before turning to look at the woman standing in the foyer.

"I honestly don't think I'll be doing any dating or interfering in other people's relationships for a long time. I actually just got out of a really long relationship and don't think I'm ready for any long—or even short-term—commitments."

"Oh," a look of concern transposed her delicate features. "I'm really sorry. Do you mind me asking how long?"

Kurt sighed, smiling sadly. Her consideration was genuinely touching.

"December would have been eight years—got married right after he finished college. It was silly to say the least. I mean… We loved each other dearly through our entire marriage, but... It was all so very...  _Tame_." He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at his pristine, white carpet.

"And I know what you're thinking, that once the "honeymoon" phase…" he uncrossed his arms to make air quotes before opening the box. It contained every issue of  _Vogue_  that he had worked on. "…dies down and  _real_  life starts to set in, that's what love and marriage is about, but…" he laughed cynically, "We never even had a honeymoon phase, to tell you the truth. My honeymoon phase involved nipping at his heels until he finally noticed me. So here we are, thirty years old and as frigid as a couple in their eighties and we knew…" His voice waved slightly as he drew in a breath, but he smiled all the same. "We could tell we were only perpetuating our unhappiness by holding each other back from finding true…" he trailed off, looking up as if he had forgotten where he was. "I'm sorry. You probably don't want to hear all this. I don't even know your name."

"It's fine. It probably feels good to get it off of your chest. My name's Evelyn, by the way." She held out her hand and Kurt gripped it briefly in his. She smiled sympathetically. "You're a nice guy." She shrugged. "It was worth a shot. Anyways, I better get going."

"Oh, right. Thank you so much again for helping me, Evelyn. I appreciate it," Kurt said, walking to the door. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around."

"I'd like to think so. You take care," she waved slightly before shutting the door behind her.

The smile on Kurt's face lingered even after Evelyn was gone. Kurt was happy to have met such a kind and pleasant women and couldn't help but wonder whether her cousin would be the same way.

Kurt sat down on the arm of the white leather couch. Maybe he should have asked Evelyn for her cousin's apartment number. He was new in the large building, after all. It would have been nice to stop by and introduce himself, at least. He  _did_  move from Chelsea to the apartment situated right alongside the Hudson River. It was a completely new neighborhood, to him, and he could always go for some recommendations for restaurants and markets. What harm would asking Evelyn for her cousin's apartment number do?

Kurt stood up from the couch and strode to the door.

"Evelyn, I…" Kurt called as he poked his head out of the door, hoping he could still catch her, but she was already gone. With a hint of a regretful smile lingering upon his lips, Kurt slipped out into the hall, keys in hand, to return back downstairs to move the rest of the boxes into his new apartment with the hope that nobody thought to steal any of his belongings out of the back of the moving truck.

**oOo**

Inside apartment #703, the sound of the curt knock upon the door floated all the way past the foyer and into the en-suite bathroom where Dave Karofsky stood in front of the mirror. He stayed where he was, brushing his teeth slowly as the knocking resumed and at a rapid, if not impatient, pace.

He huffed before spitting the minty foam into the sink and craned his neck out of the open bathroom door.

"S'open!" he called as he picked up a disposable cup. He turned on the water, rinsing off the brush and the toothpaste in the sink before filling the cup with water. As he took a sip to swish, he heard the door open.

"We're going to be late!" A sing-song voice called, needing no introduction. Dave snorted as he spit the water out, and he heard the door close. After wiping his face off on the hand towel, he strode out of the bathroom, through his bedroom, and into the living room.

"Whose fault is that?" Dave intoned, fixing his lapels. "How do I look?"

"Handsome as ever, Davey." Evelyn Karofsky-O'Brien teased as her cousin held out his arms to his side so that she could inspect his grey suit and his white dress shirt with the first few buttons popped open. He figured that he might as well continue to wear his expensive suits despite quitting his job. There weren't many other places he could wear them besides lunch with Evelyn, or else dinner parties with his boyfriend, and he'd hate for them to go to waste. "Though you do know it's about one-hundred degrees out there?"

"Ninety-two," Dave said simply as he grabbed his wallet and keys off of the counter. "I checked the news. Besides, it's a special occasion."

"Really?" Evelyn asked, sounding genuinely surprised as though she might have forgotten a birthday or an anniversary of some sort. "And what might that be?"

"The fact that I hardly get to see you anymore."

"Mm," Evelyn hummed as she turned up her nose slightly. "Well, maybe if you-know-who didn't make it so difficult. He's not here, is he?" She narrowed her eyes as she craned her neck as if looking for someone to emerge from the bedroom.

"No, he's not. Left about half an hour ago," Dave said, as he placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of the apartment. When they were out in the hall, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot. The effect, which was meant to be stern, was lost when the sole of her foot was muted upon the plush carpet, which was unlike that of the lobby floor downstairs.

"Now I wonder why that could be?"

"Ev… Come on," Dave said weakly as he locked the door behind him. "Can we just have  _one_  afternoon together where we don't discuss why Travis is somehow worse than my last ten boyfriends," he paused before adding with emphasis, "Who you  _also_  didn't like!"

"I know he doesn't like me, I just haven't figured out why yet."

"I don't know… Maybe it's because you let slip in conversation that you weren't a fan of Frank Lloyd Wright's designs," he started on a tirade as they made their way towards the elevator, "You know how he is when it comes to architecture. It's his life."

"I did  _not_  say that," Evelyn pointed out, giving him a dangerous look as she pointed a finger. "I said that I wasn't a fan of his utilization of low-pitched roofs."

"Fine. Then maybe it's because you try to set me up on dates with the younger male nurses at the hospital."

"And God knows I try," she said, softening up a bit as if trying a different approach to get through to Dave. She patted his arm. "I miss this. Hanging out with you like when we were teenagers."

"Me too, Ev," Dave said, smiling fondly as he pressed the  _down_  button once they made it to the elevator. Dave was quiet for a handful of seconds before speaking up.

"I'm pretty sure he was annoyed that I locked myself up in the office all day," he mentioned quietly as the doors eventually dinged open. Evelyn glanced at the back of his head in understanding as he stepped into the little box. He held the side so it didn't close on her as she stepped in.

"How's the writing going?" she asked, already knowing what he was referring to. Her eyes were wide and curious as she judged his reaction.

"You mean my futile attempts at brainstorming as I stare at a blank page?" Dave turned his head, smiling sardonically before answering his own question. "Superb."

"You'll get there, David. It just takes time. It's only been a week since you left  _The Times_. And switching from sports articles to novels?" She shook her head. "That can't be easy."

"I'm a writer, though," Dave groaned, exasperated. "That would be like you going on vacation and not remembering how to operate on a person when you go back to work. I studied Literature  _and_  Creative Writing. It can't be that difficult." He tilted his head back, letting it  _thonk_  against the metal confines of the elevator. "I just need to find a topic—something that I'm really passionate about—and then it'll be smooth sailing from there."

As the elevator doors opened, Evelyn attempted to lighten the topic as she felt Dave's frustration emanating from him.

" _So_ , there's a new guy moving in," Evelyn said, nonchalantly changing the subject as she inspected her nails.

"Really? You meet him?"

"Mmhm," she hummed in affirmation, now smoothing down her top. "He's cute."

"Here we go," Dave groaned.

"And  _available_ ," she added and Dave could practically hear the plea in her voice.

"Well, how do you know he's...? Oh God..." Dave groaned, rolling his head. "You can't just go around asking everybody their sexual orientation, Ev.

"I didn't," she said a little too defensively as she blushed. "He told me. He just got out of a long relationship though, poor thing."

"That's too bad. So I guess he said he wasn't ready to get back on that dating horse, then. Pity," Dave tutted as he shook his head with mock sadness.

"Could you at least explain to me exactly what it is you and Trav- _ass_ have in common?"

Dave was silent for a moment, mulling over the request as he rolled up his sleeves, getting ready to brace himself for the furnace that was outside.

"We both enjoy getting off." He nodded with a frown, as though agreeing with his own answer.

"I didn't need to hear that. Jesus, you're such a male," she said with a huff as she strode in front of him to pull open the door. She heard Dave chuckling to himself behind her as she walked out of the lobby and into the searing heat. It was like a hot blow dryer turned itself on right in front of their faces.

"So, half of his stuff is at your apartment..." she mused, digging her sunglasses out of her purse. "Can we expect a happy announcement soon?"

"Don't count on it," Dave muttered sternly, and Evelyn didn't say anything else about the matter.

"Oh," she stopped short and Dave nearly ran into her. "He's inside the moving truck, come on. You should go talk to him. Introduce yourself to him, at least."

Dave looked toward the truck as he tilted his head, squinting from the light as he attempted to make out the shape of the person in the back of the truck. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in fascination as he saw the outline of a person, facing away from him and bending over, sifting through a box. He couldn't help but admire the view of tight jean capris stretching over the man's attractive backside.

"Ev, we're gonna be late for our reservations," Dave said, shaking his head to pull himself out of his daze. Dave glanced at his watch before raising his hand and hailing a cab before Evelyn could say anything else on the matter. "I'm sure there will be other opportunities. He is moving in, after all. What did you say his name was?" Dave asked patiently, holding the door open for Evelyn, who frowned sadly, at the man in the truck.

"I didn't," she said despondently as she climbed into the back of the cab. "I forgot to ask him."

"Ah."

Dave climbed in after her. He almost wished she had gotten the name of the unnamed tenant, just for curiosity's sake. After he shut the door, he gave the name of the restaurant to the cabbie and they drove off just as Kurt Hummel hopped down out of the back of the truck with yet another box, and went back into the lobby once more and without the struggle, having pressed the automatic door opener with his knowledge gained from the help of his new friend.


	3. Butterfingers: Not Just a Candy Bar

**oOo**

**Monday, 28 October 2024**

The two months since that hot August day when Kurt moved into his new apartment flew by, and he was pleased how his new place was beginning to feel like home. He truly felt as though he had been given - had given himself - a fresh start.

All of his magazines and books had been placed neatly on his bookshelf. He arranged and rearranged his furniture multiple times until he eventually decided that the couch looked much nicer in the middle of the vast living room rather than pushed against the far right wall. His hair products nearly covered the entire countertop in his bathroom, though it was strange not seeing Blaine's preferred brand of gel placed next to his hairspray anymore. Despite this leaving him with a small twinge of sadness, he was not as lonely as he expected himself to be. He quickly realized how he was used to feeling alone in their relationship—at least after their marriage. It was hard  _not_  to be when he spent so much time at the office during his early years at  _Vogue_ , hoping his work ethic and ambition would quickly get him to the top—and it did. Blaine, on the other hand, had been busy taking classes, working on achieving his Master's in Psychology. But he couldn't say he felt any regret. They were both busy achieving their dreams and the fact that they were able to travel that road together would mean a bond that few others could only dream of. They would always be friends; and for that, Kurt was grateful.

Since moving into the new apartment, a brisk chill had finally overtaken the awful heat, and Kurt exchanged his laid-back summer attire for toasty scarves and warm, woolen mittens, as well as his beloved fitted sweaters. The trees completed their seasonal transformation. From his window, Kurt could see how all the leaves on the trees in the park across the street had adopted their rustic, fiery hues, and along with the changing of the season came the festive decorations. Pumpkins, carved far too early, sat atop building stoops like decaying heads with appalled expressions, seemingly caving in upon themselves, and the pumpkins still available at the  _Foodex_ down the block were as scarce as they were of superior quality, as all the good ones had already been purchased, leaving the shrunken and misshapen rejects looking more like butternut squashes at the bottom of the container.

 _Vogue Magazine_  had undergone a bit of a makeover as well, trading in swimsuits and short-shorts for a more modest and cozy look and feel. Kurt was now diving headfirst into reviewing articles on hot fall color combinations, the best ways to pair boots and heels with jeans and pantyhose, as well as the dreaded winter, fashion faux pas such as the  _Snuggie_  and the  _Forever Lazy_.

Halloween, he realized, was just three days away and he still needed to buy candy for the trick-or-treaters. While the number of knocks on the door from children dressed up as superheroes, witches, and monsters was slim at his old apartment, he did not know what to expect here at his new one, so it was best he was prepared.

On his way home from work, he stopped at  _Foodex_  to pick up a bag of candy or two. And as he meandered up and down the candy aisle, humming along with the soft music playing over the speakers, he could hear a man talking.

What Kurt thought was someone talking to the cashier was actually a one-sided conversation of the person talking on the phone. He stopped his humming as he couldn't help but eavesdrop upon what was being said - or rather  _how_  it was being said. The man was talking loud enough, after all, and his voice was able to maintain a soothing calmness despite the fact that he was raising it in what seemed to be an attempt to placate the individual on the other end. But what truly made him stop was how he felt like he heard that voice before.

"…dad would have wanted me to be happy. I'm finally doing what I want to do."

Kurt frowned, narrowing his eyes as he picked up a large bag of candy, listening carefully.

" _Yes_ , I got the salmon."

Kurt remembered all too well what it was like having someone to bicker with over petty things. He had planned on getting a bag of a mixed variety candy, the kind with Butterscotch disks because, and for whatever reason, he started to develop an affinity for them over the years, even keeping them at his desk in his office at Vogue. He could understand children's hatred towards them, of course, what with their hard texture and simple flavor, but he could save them for himself and give the other candies away. If he was still with Blaine, he would have been asked to bring home some Reese's, or else be asked why he liked that "gross candy that could only be found in the bottom of elderly women's purses", and then he would state that Reese's were simply the cheapest variety of milk chocolate holding together a cloud of peanut butter dust.

"Yup, got it."

Kurt could hear the man's voice traveling up the aisle next to him until he was able to faintly pick it up from where it floating through the quiet store from the checkout counter. Finally, and with his curiosity getting the better of him, Kurt randomly grabbed two large bags of fun-size M&M's and Butterfingers in each.

"No, Travis. I just thought you were going to do the honey mustard marinade like last time."

Kurt saw the man standing in front of the cashier - just his back, like the rest of him, was blocked by the closed register - but he was tall and wide, especially in comparison to himself. He wore a black sweatshirt and had a navy blue beanie on his head, obviously to protect himself from the frigid night air. Kurt blinked. It was a big city they were in. Maybe they had classes together years ago at SUNY Community College. Judging by his attire, however, Kurt had little reason to believe this man could have taken any fashion courses. As he made his way up to the only open register, and between the two closed ones, the man handed his money to the cashier, before turning to rest his elbow in what looked like irritation on the little counter used to write checks.

"Then just season it with salt and pepper, then! Jesus, f… I'm sorry." Kurt heard the man say softly to the cashier lady as he held out a large hand and accepted the money and his receipt, stuffing it into his pocket before pulling up the hood to his sweater to shield his face from the cold and taking the two or three bags of groceries and walking through the automatic, gliding doors.

**o0o**

"Hello?" Dave intoned, after pressing the button to his Bluetooth. When he heard the voice on the other end he automatically wished he had checked to see who was calling before answering the phone.

" _Where are you?"_

"Oh, hey, Trav." He chimed with mock enthusiasm. "I'm just about to leave the store right now."

" _You were home all day. Why couldn't you go earlier?"_

"Because I was busy."

" _Did you get anything done today?"_ What was he? His mother?

"No, Travis, but I did clean up the mess you made from your party the night before."

Dave heard a sigh on the other line.

" _I was going to take care of that tonight. Dave, how long do you think this is going to take? We've got bills to pay. I know I make more than enough to cover rent, but there's also money for leisure… Utilities."_ Dave knew Travis was referring to the grandiose parties he enjoyed hosting, as well as his so-called business trips that Dave knew involved more "play" than "work".

"Well, what do you want me to do? Dip into my dad's life insurance?" Dave brought this up only because he knew it would piss Travis off. He had already spent a chunk of the money on bills, but that was hardly able to put a dent in the large sum of money left to him by his father, not that Travis knew how much he had received anyway. He did know that Travis was more concerned about the money that he would be no longer making since quitting his job at the _New York Times_. "I enjoyed my old job, Travis. But my dad would have wanted me to be happy. I'm finally doing what I want to do."

" _Yeah, okay,"_  Travis said a bit impatiently.  _"We'll talk about it when you get home. Did you pick up the stuff for dinner?"_

"Yes, I got the salmon."

" _And the farm-raised variety, right? You know I don't like that mercury filled crap."_

"Yup, got it," Dave lied. He would just throw the packaging out before Travis could see it.

" _And did you get the lemon-pepper rub?"_

"No, Travis. I just thought you were going to do the honey mustard marinade like last time."

" _Well, I_ would,  _but that would involve the use of a grill and a cedar plank. The last time I made that was at my old place. And last I checked, we're living in your god-awful apartment, Dave."_

"Then just season it with salt and pepper, then! Jesus, f…" Dave practically shouted before turning off the Bluetooth device.

He and Travis were about to go on to their seventh month of dating, and he couldn't help but wonder when it got so bad. They argued over the smallest things practically every day. He was inclined to believe the bickering and constant disagreement only began to escalate nearly three months ago when he first gave his two weeks' notice at the New York Times, but who was he kidding. It was like their relationship thrived on the fact that they didn't get along. They would fight, one of them would walk out, come back once they both cooled off, and then the angry make-up sex would somehow compensate for the fact that they were almost constantly at each other's throats. It wasn't a relationship, they were in. It was a Civil War, if only Grant and Lee had been fucking each other.

He often thought about what his cousin told him. He and Travis really had no business being in a relationship with one another. Certainly, there was an attraction there, but they really had nothing in common. He felt selfish, most of the time—staying in a relationship purely for the amazing sex. But at the same time, he knew Travis was married to his work. While Dave looked forward to the idea of settling down and maybe having a kid or two that was not the life Travis wanted. But at least the only person he was hurting was himself, and Dave knew that there would be a time when the right person would come along.

**o0o**

"How you doin' tonight, hon?" Kurt heard the woman ask as he stared out into the darkness framed by the doors and that was when he saw the small strip of paper standing out starkly against the black mat in front of the entrance.

"Oh, um…" Kurt muttered distractedly as he set the candy on the conveyor belt. He glanced at the woman before giving her an apologetic smile.

"That man just dropped something." He knew it could only be a receipt, but he moved away from the register despite this. "Can you hold on to these for just a moment? I'll be right back." He patted the bags. The women smiled at him gently, and nodded. There was no one else in line, and the brightly lit store was practically devoid of customers, as no one wanted to go to the store so late and after getting off of work. So he strode to the door, picking up the paper before going out into the cold.

There he was. With help from the dingy, yellow glow of the streetlights, Kurt could see the outline of his broad shoulders as well as the white plastic shopping bags dangling from a thick arm before disappearing completely as he shut the door to the cab he was getting in.

"Wait, you forgot your…" Kurt shouted out futilely, waving the receipt. The streetlights caught the wisp of his breath floating in the air as he came to a stop, standing lamely on the sidewalk as his arm dropped heavily to his side.

He knew the disappointment he felt as the cab drove away - pulling out on to 64th St. and leaving nothing behind except a cloud of exhaust from the bad muffler - had more to do with the fact that his curiosity would not be fulfilled rather than not being able to return the useless scrap of paper to its original owner.

Kurt sighed in defeat as he crumpled up the flimsy piece of paper into a wad in the palm of his hand and tossed it into the trash bin right outside the market's doors as he went back inside, never sparing it a glance to see the words  _Foodex VIP Club Member: David Karofsky_  printed near the top, nor the great deal of money he could have saved on frozen Atlantic Salmon.


	4. Lions, Twinks, and Bears

 

 

**Thursday, 31 October 2024**

The kettle on the stove let out its high-pitched whistle signaling Kurt, curled up under a fleece blanket with the full bowl of Halloween candy, watching reruns of  _America's Next Top Model_ , to get off of the couch. He pushed the blanket away and padded barefoot into the kitchen. As warm as his cozy pajamas were, the hardwood floor, however, was frigid upon the soles of his feet when he transitioned from the fluffy rug to the hard floor.

Avoiding the jet of steam being expelled from the spout, he turned off the burner to the stove and picked up the kettle by the handle to pour the boiling liquid over the little bag of pomegranate-chamomile tea.

He couldn't begin to feel guilty or lame for staying in. He might have worked at  _Vogue_ , but his colleagues, more so than him, were avid pursuers of the nightclub scene. Now that he was in his thirties, he had quickly grown out of pretending he was having a good time in a loud room full of people he didn't know. There was nothing wrong with a bit of self-indulgent  _me time_ , especially when he was surrounded by a group of people every day. He was perfectly content with spending the evening in—just being lazy after a long day at work, with a relaxing cup of tea followed by a lavender and sea salt bath.

It was a shame, though, how he hadn't received any trick-or-treaters that evening. Not that he was really expecting any - especially in such a high-end apartment like the one he recently moved into. Most of the tenants here were like him: successful business people, wealthy execs, maybe a performer or actor here and there who happened to travel a lot and is in need of a quiet and discrete, yet discerning and comfortable, place to stay. While young kids were not completely nonexistent in the building, from what he had seen, the tenets of the building who were parents were those with babies and toddlers, as the spacious apartments were efficient for starting families, but not quite enough room for those expecting more little pitter-patters of tiny feet in the future.

The biggest travesty, however, was how he would have to eat all the candy by himself, and he knew that wouldn't do him (or his ass) any favors considering his sedentary job. He figured he could compromise by going to the gym, which he had forgotten was on the eighth floor. But just as he was about to get the bottle of honey out of the cabinet, he had to change his mind about resorting to eating the candy himself as he heard a knock at the door.

Kurt frowned as he turned around, glancing at the analog clock on the microwave. It was a quarter past nine and he didn't think parents would want their children out trick-or-treating so late and on a school night.

Kurt replaced the kettle on top of the stove as he walked to the door, picking up the bowl of candy on the way, just in case. He squinted through the peephole to find two distorted figures standing outside his door dressed up as Batman and Catwoman. Kurt knew immediately who it was despite their faces being concealed. He shook his head in amusement as he moved away from the door, setting the bowl on the table.

Kurt opened the door, the latch still in place, to take a peek out into the hall. The taller one didn't look all that amused in his tight, gray and black outfit, cape, and yellow utility belt à la Adam West. He had his arms crossed snugly in front of him. The tinier woman was clad in a skin-tight, black leather outfit reminiscent of Nicole Kidman's Catwoman, and she was practically bouncing up and down in excitement. Both of them, however, were much too old to be trick-or-treating.

"I'm not being robbed am I?" Kurt asked, chortling.

"Kurt!" The woman pulled her mask off and cascades of thick, black hair fell down, framing her beaming face, revealing the identity of one Rachel Hudson neé Berry.

"Surprise!" she burst, her arms held out jubilantly.

"Hold on," Kurt rang out in a sing-song voice as he shut the door on them and removed the latch. When he opened the door once more, it was to have Rachel launching herself at him, squealing. He hugged her back in equal enthusiasm, if not a hint of shock.

"Oh, wow... Hi!" he said brightly as she finally let him go, but his face betrayed his concern. He considered the possibility of a motive behind their surprise arrival. "If I knew you two were going to drop by, I would have made myself a little more decent." He looked down at his red and black fleece pajama pants and his fitted long sleeve shirt.

"You're fine. We haven't seen the new place yet. We thought we'd surprise you. Right, Finn?" she turned her head towards her husband in the threshold who looked away stubbornly.

"Right," he agreed like a reprimanded child.

"Hello, Finn," Kurt said lightly acknowledging his younger, but definitely not smaller, step-brother. Finn clapped his shoulder briefly in greeting. "What's wrong with him?" Kurt asked, turning to Rachel this time.

"He's mad he couldn't go trick-or-treating." Rachel looked at him disapprovingly as he hovered over the candy bowl still filled to the brim. Rachel moved in towards the living room with Kurt, who turned off the television.

Rachel walked around the apartment, examining the chandelier in the shape of a starburst, which he hung above the round kitchen table as well as the inky-skyline and city lights visible just beyond the windows.

"You've outdone yourself, Kurt. The place looks amaz—Finn!" she cut herself off. "If you get sick later from overdosing on sugar and alcohol, I will not be held responsible." She pointed a stern finger in his direction.

"Yeah, yeah." Finn waved her off as he picked up a bag of M&Ms and tore the paper with his teeth before pouring the contents in his hand.

"Are you guys on your way back from a party?" Kurt asked curiously, crossing his arms as Rachel sat down on his couch and primly crossed her legs.

"Actually..." Rachel dragged out, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "We're on our way  _to_  a party."

It didn't take Kurt long to understand what she was implying, and he backed away slowly, shaking his head.

"No. No way are you dragging to me to some costume party and... Getting me drunk and what not. No thank you. I have to go to work tomorrow."

"Oh, come on, Kurt. It's one night of your life," Rachel whined standing up. Even her sleek, black stilettos couldn't bring her to Kurt's height. "It'll be fun. And it's not a costume party  _per se._  It's at a bar. Please? For me?"

Rachel gave him her best-dejected look, fluttering her eyelashes, which were thick with mascara. Kurt saw the tears welling up in her tear ducts and he unfolded his arms, letting them drop to his sides in defeat.

"Damn you, Rachel Berry and your ability to cry on cue," he stated ruefully. Rachel immediately looked pleased and she clapped her hands together knowing that she had been able to make Kurt cave.

"But I didn't buy a new costume this year," Kurt mentioned, turning around to face her once more after starting on his way to the bedroom. He thought it could provide him with one last excuse as to why he would be unable to go out with them. "Everything I have here I've already worn."

"Please," she waved him off dismissively. "Do you honestly think Finn hasn't worn his costume before?" Finn looked up quickly, his mouth full of Butterfinger and he shook his head in warning.

"But I've never seen Finn wear that befo...  _Oh!_ " A look of horror and realization distorted his features and he clapped his hands over his ears as Rachel blushed furiously. "Ew! No! I don't want to know about your guy's freaky sex life.  _No._ " He walked out of the room just as Rachel threw her mask at him.

"Go get dressed, Kurt!"

**o0o**

They left ten minutes later once Kurt dressed. The three of them hailed and climbed into the back of a taxi much to the cabbie's amusement, having to pull over and pick up an overgrown Batman, Catwoman, and Kurt dressed opposite of Natalie Portman as V, himself, from  _V for Vendetta_. It was a good thing he was able to find his sai swords to complete the outfit, along with his mask and wig, which were all hiding in one of his boxes in the back of his closet that he hadn't bothered to unpack – boxes that were all labeled miscellaneous, high school, or college - all things that he couldn't bear to throw away but didn't serve much purpose aside from sentimental value.

When the three of them arrived at their destination—much to Finn's relief after complaining that Kurt's sword kept sticking his in his side—the first thing Kurt noticed was that the sign over the establishment said  _HEatwave_ , and the second being that the ridiculously long line went completely around the building, blocked off by red, velvet ropes, containing all the costumed partygoers. Kurt grimaced. It didn't take much convincing for Rachel to get him out of the house, but he didn't think he would have to wait in a line all night.

"Rachel, this place is ridiculously busy," he said, his voice muffled by his mask as he followed Rachel down the sidewalk to the front of the line.

"Just hold on a second," Rachel said as she literally walked toward the bouncer who was letting the people in. Kurt sighed, knowing exactly what she was going to do. He watched as she pulled her ID out of her tight sleeve and flashed it at the colossal bouncer. He automatically lifted the velvet rope away to let her through. When the bouncer attempted to stop Kurt and Finn from following her, she spoke up.

"They're with me," she said brightly, and he nodded in understanding, allowing Kurt and Finn to follow her through into the deafening club.

"What a blatant abuse of power," Kurt huffed once they were inside. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he looked around at his surroundings.

"Hey, it's not like I'm the President of the United States," she said defensively, placing her hands on her tiny waist. Finn placated her by placing his hand on top of hers and pecking the top of her leather mask.

"My wife, the Broadway star," he said fondly and she looked up at him through her eyelashes with adoring eyes. When Finn spared a glance around the club, looking at the occupants clogging the vast dance floor, bar, and tables, he frowned. "There sure are a lot of guys here." He pointed out.

Kurt noticed the same thing. There was not one person in the club not wearing a costume of some sort. He spotting one particularly ripped guy at the bar wearing a fake mane of sorts, a detachable lion tail, and ears. He noticed a couple of John Travolta -  _Grease -_  lookalikes, with their slick, oily black hair and leather jackets, and even a Doctor Frank-N-Furter, heels and all. But the one thing everyone had in common was the obvious fact that they were all, well, _male._

"Is this a gay bar?" Finn perked up, mildly impressed with himself that it took him that long to realize the estrogen that was lacking in the room.

Kurt, however, was not pleased.

"Rachel..." he said in a dangerously low growl."I know what you're doing and  _no_ , I'm not interested in hooking up with anybody." He raised his mask away from his face.

"Kurt, it's been  _two_  months. Almost three." Kurt rolled his eyes. "I just thought you would like to go out as a free man, maybe meet some people. I mean, Finn and I are married. You're single. What would be a better place to spend a night out?" Kurt lowered his mask, shaking his head wearily.

"I need a drink."

They squeezed between some guys at the bar, and he flashed his ID, the bartender barely glancing at it as he and ordered a Lemon Drop. Beside him, Rachel wrung her hands out in front of herself anxiously.

"Well, at least let me pay for it?" She asked, sounding genuinely apologetic for striking the wrong chord. "I know you think we're just trying to help you move on from Blaine, but there was another reason that I wanted to take you out tonight."

"And what's that?" Kurt asked turning towards her expectantly.

"I'm pregnant."

Kurt burst out laughing, throwing his head back so that his hat nearly fell off.

"Right. You're pregnant so we go to a gay bar. That makes perfect sense." When he looked back at Rachel she smiled meekly and his expression underneath his mask changed to one of incredulity.

"Holy  _crap_. You're serious?" he demanded, tearing his mask off once more. She nodded.

"Oh my God!" he exclaimed. "Well, what the hell are we doing here, then? You can't  _drink_."

"I know that." It was her turn to roll her eyes. "I wanted to spend one last night with you before... Well..." She started to get choked up and Kurt knew she wasn't acting this time. "It's not like we'll be able to see each other as often once the baby is born. Besides, I doubt I'll ever be able to fit into this thing again." She looked down at her body suit miserably

"Rachel, honey… No..." Kurt's demeanor changed immediately as he reached out and took her hands in his. "This is a beautiful thing. You're going to be a mom. Have you any idea how  _amazing_  that is? You and Finn are giving life to something other than an incredible duet," she gave him a watery smile as she looked down at their hands shyly. "And I, for one, can't wait to see what a Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson baby grows up to be." He gave her hands a squeeze.

Rachel sniffled before practically crying out, "I'm going to be a mom!" as if she just made the connection then and she covered her mouth. Rachel laughed, as Kurt squeezed her carefully to him, suddenly mindful of her tummy."

"No, you're going to be a  _great_  one." They stayed in each other's comforting and friendly embrace, the only noises being the liveliness of the occupants in the room surrounding them. "God, I can't believe it," he breathed, before letting out a squeak and pulling away from her quickly, holding her shoulders at arm's length.

"I'm going to be an uncle!" His eyes were wide in realization and Rachel nodded enthusiastically. When he let go, she wiped underneath her eyes, fixing her makeup.

"What about Finn? Does he know?" he asked excitedly.

"Not yet," Rachel said guiltily. "I thought I'd give him one last night of freedom before he has to dote on me and the baby. I'm going to tell him in the morning. I already told Dads the other day, but I was still kind of nervous about telling Finn. What if something happens? What if he gets called back into the service? And obviously, I will be on pregnancy leave soon. I don't remember the scene in  _Wicked_  where Elphaba gets pregnant." She gnawed on her lip nervously. Kurt laughed, imaging the plot twist of a pregnant Rachel being suspended in the air while belting out the verses during the dramatic climax in  _Defying Gravity._

"Sweetie, I know there is always a chance that something could happen to send Finn back overseas, but whatever happens at least you'll know that you have me, your parents, Carole, my dad… We're all here for you. Okay? And I'm sorry for getting upset before. I know you're just worried about me since the divorce. But I'll be fine." He gave her a reassuring smile. "If anything was wrong, you would be the first to know."

"Yeah," she sighed and Kurt could visibly see her relax, her shoulders lowering considerably. "Speaking of Finn, though, I'm pretty sure he was dragged onto the dance floor by a drag queen. I'll be right back, okay? I'm just gonna go see if I can find him."

"Be careful," Kurt shouted as he watched her walk away. When he turned back to the bar, he was handed his martini by the bartender. He accepted it, mouthing a  _thank you_ , and he stared into its contents happy to think about the future of Hudson-Berry family and what it would be like to be an uncle—that is until he felt an unwelcome hand upon his waist.

**o0o**

Dave scratched at his thick, fake beard and adjusted the Baby Bjorn carrier that he borrowed from Evelyn, containing the fake baby strapped to his chest as he followed Travis into the club. They didn't have to wait in line, considering the club itself belonged to a friend of Travis's.

Travis stayed farther up ahead of Dave as they weaved in and out of the people in the club, and Dave wasn't oblivious to the fact that Travis was doing a good job at putting some distance between the two of them. While he looked silly in his own garb, Travis looked elegant in his tux and silver and black masquerade mask—like he was about to attend a ball. He wasn't sure why Travis invited him to go out with his architect friends when he couldn't even stand within three feet within each other's vicinity. Not that he really cared. He didn't have anything in common with Travis's snobbish colleagues, so when he noticed that Travis spotted his friends on the opposite side of the bar, Dave inconspicuously took his wrist so that he turned around.

"You go ahead," he said. "It's a bit crowded on that end. I'll just hang out over here."

Travis gave him a curious look, but then shrugged.

"If you insist," he said, and as soon as Dave let go if him he was walking away. Dave sighed, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous in his fluffy auburn wig and fake beard. Travis knew that he was a bit of a nerd and Dave wasn't sure why he would invite him if he was embarrassed by him. After all,  _The Hangover,_ and particularly Zach Galifianakis's character, was practically the epitome of pop-culture when he was a teenager, and if Dave was going to be dragged to some club when he could be at home writing, then he would, at least, dress up as something he liked and not care about what other people thought about him. He did enough of that in high school.

Just as he was about to order himself a beer, he could hear a raised voice down along the bar a few feet away from him and he couldn't help but listen in.

**o0o**

"Hey, sweetheart." Kurt jerked his head towards the space where Rachel was just standing to see an overly cocky face smirking at him.

"Can I help you?" Kurt snarled, taking the wrist and removing it forcefully from his body. He shook his head before shifting his body away from the man.

"Aw, come on. Don't be like that." Kurt glared through the slits in the mask as the twink had the nerve to reach across him, moving in closer. There was no way he could have been older than twenty-four, and Kurt wondered if he would be as insistent in his conquest if he knew he was, at least, five years older than him.

_Probably._

"Come on, don't you take that mask off?" The poor excuse of an  _Indiana Jones_  look-a-like was practically feeling upon him. Kurt cringed, trying to shift away from the creep, but finding himself unable to budge due to how crowded the bar was. The other customers behind him were holding him in place. Kurt couldn't help but think of the situation as ironic as he began feeling increasingly uncomfortable, the air in the room in his mask growing thin and himself, light headed. _V_  was supposed to be such a heroic character.

He couldn't even help himself.

**o0o**

Dave couldn't help but wonder why the other man didn't try to defend himself with the swords attached to his hip.

"No." The man's protests were becoming weaker as Dave's heart continued to thud faster in pure rage.

"Come on, why don't we go play our own version of trick-or-treating in the bathroom. You open up, and I'll give you my sweets."

Dave gritted his teeth as he felt a churning in his gut as he saw the unmasked man's hand dip lower from where it was sitting on the other man's waist and, despite not being able to see the other man's features, he noticed a slight tremor of revolt go through him. Without thinking, Dave pushed himself away from the bar and strode the short distance him and the two men. He decided that he had seen enough.

"Hey," he said, sneaking up behind the guy and placing his hand on his shoulder spinning him around. "Why don't you beat it, buddy, obviously the guy's not interested."

Once the surprise on the guy's face died away, he cocked his head disinterestedly as his eyes slid up and down Dave's body, taking in the tight, belted white bell-bottom pants, grey and pink shirt, the fake, plastic baby doll strapped to his chest and, finally, the sunglasses and fake wig and beard.

"Can I help you, asshole?"

"No, but you can leave my date alone for one." The guy seemed shocked, and Dave was pretty sure if he could see the other man's face, he would be shocked too.

"You're with this guy?" The prick turned back to the man dressed completely in black and jabbed a thumb behind him towards Dave. When he made no effort to disagree with him, the blonde scoffed, shaking his head before leaving, muttering something about  _horrible tastes._

Dave watched as the man disappeared into the crowd. He didn't have any reason to believe that he would be back, but for some reason, he stayed close to the man…  _V._

"Zach Galifianakis… My  _hero_." Dave heard the man breathe in a swoon. And then seriously, "Thank you. You really didn't have to do that."

"It's fine," Dave shrugged. "Just because we're in a gay bar doesn't mean it's a free for all. Obviously, that guy was out of line."

"I hope you didn't just say you were my date because you were expecting something from me?" he intoned suspiciously. He tilted his head so that the straight strands of hair from the wig sway against the mask. The person in the mask had a high, almost haughty voice, and he couldn't help but be entranced by it.

"No, of course not… That is, unless, you allow me to buy you another drink? He could have put something in yours. It's better to be safe than sorry."

"That would be exceedingly kind of you." Dave could almost hear the smile in the man's voice. His eyes flicked over the man's shoulder to the opposite side of the bar. He spotted Travis, being his usual charismatic and suave self as he hammed it up with his buddies. Dave felt surprised by his lack of guilt. But why should he feel guilty? He was talking to the guy, not  _blowing_  him.

"So... You... Oh, oh my God." The masked man stammered and Dave turned his attention back to him. "Um… I'm sorry. I need to… I need to use the restroom. Excuse me." Dave couldn't begin to understand why he felt so dejected as he stared after the man who weaved in and out of people on his way towards the bathroom, but his thoughts of his rescuee were interrupted by the rich, English accent of his boyfriend behind him.

"David? Who was that you were just talking to?"

"Hmm…?" he intoned noncommittally. "Oh. I don't know. I didn't see his face," Dave said nonchalantly. The bartender had since taken the full martini glass away to make room for more customers, leaving no trace of the man behind.

"He wasn't coming on to you, was he?"

"Dressed like this?" Dave said motioning to his baby carrier and beard. "Course not."

"Oh… Well, my friend Jonathon… I don't think you met him before. He said he used to read your sports column every day. He wanted to..." Dave's eyes wandered toward the bathroom where the man had disappeared, not listening to a word Travis was saying.

_'My hero.'_

The voice kept replaying itself over and over again in his head. He didn't pay much attention to it before, but he couldn't help but find it familiar, like a voice in a dream. But considering this was New York, he easily could have been talking to an actor, or even a recording artist simply searching for a night of anonymity. So as he allowed his boyfriend to pull him in the direction of his friends, he attempted to push away the thoughts of the masked man, simply chalking their meeting up as a simple blip in time. He felt silly for thinking anything could come of their talk; especially now with his boyfriend's hand in his. He knew better than anyone else that some things were just not meant to be.

**o0o**

Kurt hated that he bailed on the very man who had saved him. He had been surprisingly sweet, and he couldn't help but be pleasantly amused by his get-up: the obviously fake and grotesque beard and wig, as well as the silver aviator glasses on both him and the fake plastic baby completely obscuring his face. Although he had advised Rachel that there was no way he would be hooking up that evening, he could have, in the very least, asked the man for his name and number. Maybe they could have gone out again some other time and in a much quieter location. But who was he kidding? He wasn't ready for a new relationship. At least not yet. And his reaction to seeing the man across the room… the very person that sent him running to the bathroom, revealed some semblance of uncertainty when it came to the close of the one and the only relationship he had ever been in.

Kurt stood with his masked forehead pressed up against the stall. He knew he should have stayed home that night and never have let Rachel convince him to go out. Of all the bars in New York, why did he have to be  _here_ of all places?

"Kurt?" Kurt heard the bathroom door open and shut and he cursed quietly. "Kurt, I know that's you. You only wore that on Halloween during your senior year at SUNY. Besides… There was no way I couldn't mistake that giant with the awful dances moves on the dance floor for Finn."

Kurt sighed disparagingly as he slowly opened the door, and when he shuffled out of the stall, it was to be face to face with none other than his ex-husband himself.

"Hi," Kurt said softly, slipping off his mask in order to rub his hand over his face in a mixture of weariness and unexplainable shyness.

Blaine looked exactly the same as he did when he last saw him, which would make sense, considering the short time that had passed since they sat in their old apartment, signing the last of their divorce papers. Despite being dressed up and looking as completely ridiculous as thirty-year-olds at a frat party—Blaine looking like the perfect, if not stunted, Superman, a black, gelled curl coming down to his forehead—the space in, around, and between them was serious.

"Hey." Blaine's tone was sympathetic and Kurt had to turn his head away from his compassionate, yet scrutinizing eyes, easily examining him in silent judgment, checking for cracks in his veneer. He hated how Blaine was able to pick up on his various and subtle nuances both on the surface as well as the secrets he hid in the darkest corners of his mind. It brought him back to his days in elementary school after his mother passed away and how his father and the school teachers felt he should talk to the counselor. He remembered how the strange woman would just sit quietly, her stare never wavering—as if she expected him to pour his soul out to a person he didn't even know—much like how he wasn't about to let himself pour his soul out to Blaine. At least, he didn't  _want_  to. But a crack in a dam could only hold the water in for so long.

"How's, um… Everything?"

"Okay." As Blaine nodded sadly, it didn't seem like it though. "You?"

"Great," Kurt croaked, not looking at Blaine. He fiddled with his mask instead.

"Which explains why you ran into the bathroom as soon as you saw me?" Blaine pursed his lips, his thick eyebrows furrowing. "Kurt, this was the last thing that I wanted when we got the divorce. I thought we agreed this was for the best?"

Kurt stared unblinkingly at Blaine and his sincere expression.

"I still don't understand where we went wrong." Kurt cursed himself silently when he was able to pick up the unmistakable tremor in his own voice. He licked his lips. "I thought I was doing fine adjusting to everything, but seeing you here tonight…? Seeing you so happy with the people you're with. I don't think I've ever seen you that happy when you were with me. And it hurts like hell." And there it went. The water bursting forth from the dam.

"Kurt…" Blaine took a step forward, reaching out in an attempt to console him, but Kurt shook his head.

"No, Blaine. I'm not mad. It's just…" he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "After everything… I could deal with losing my husband, but I never prepared myself for the possibility of losing my best friend."

"You'll always be my best friend, Kurt." Blaine reached out, gently taking Kurt's hand in his. Kurt didn't try to move away at that time. He looked down at their fingers loosely tangled with one another.

"I wish I could have tried harder for you…" Kurt said in a whisper, almost muted by the sound of the bass just outside the door. "To fix this. Fourteen years, Blaine… Eight  _married_."

"Were you happy, Kurt?" Blaine asked suddenly, looking up. His brown, watery eyes were the closest thing to that of a scolded puppy dog.

"What?" The question caught Kurt off guard and not because he was offended that Blaine would ask him such a thing, but because seconds passed and he remained unable to answer Blaine's question.

"Were you happy in our marriage, truly?" he asked again, simply.

"I… I was with you," Kurt replied as if this reason alone would suffice.

"Is that really the best way to live your life? Relying on the expectation of happiness? Passively waiting for it to eventually wander towards you like a stray animal? Or actively searching for it yourself?" Blaine paused, searching for the right words to say. "It's like... Wanting to fly your favorite kite in a thunderstorm, Kurt." He paused once more, but this time to allow for the message to sink in. "Was I really that worth it?"

Kurt closed his eyes, actually mulling over the question.

"You keep saying you wished you could have tried harder. I might be studying psychology, Kurt, but even I couldn't begin to sort out all of my issues on my own."

"I said I would never say goodbye to you," Kurt said as if it would somehow change things.

"You don't have to. God... I mean, the last thing I ever wanted was for us to turn into my parent's after their divorce. You know you can call me if you need anything. You  _are_  my best friend, Kurt," he said once more as he inclined his head to emphasize that fact. "No matter what happens, alright."

"Yeah." Kurt nodded bleakly.

"Come here." Blaine reached out for Kurt, and Kurt easily wrapped his arms around Blaine's shoulders and closed his eyes, but being mindful of his red cape. What Blaine started to move away, Kurt somehow found it that much easier to let go.

"I guess I better get back out there," he started regretfully, but then on a lighter note, placed his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest. "My people need me." Kurt let out a wet-sounding laugh into his hand as he leaned back against the sink. Blaine had his hand on the doorknob, about to step back out on to the floor when he stopped.

"Um… What you said before... About me being happy out there. Some of my colleagues wanted to throw me a going away party. I got accepted into a Psy. D program in California," he explained. "I'll be leaving this weekend."

Kurt blinked, standing up straighter.

"Blaine, that's great… I'm really happy for you." Kurt smiled when he realized that he genuinely meant it.

"Thanks, Kurt. I am happy and…" he swallowed thickly. "As much as you wanted to believe you were happy in our relationship... God, I hope someone comes along and is able to prove you wrong." He gave Kurt a sad smile before pulling open the door, the loud bass from the speakers quickly filling the silence of the small room.

When Blaine stepped out of the bathroom, Kurt had to wipe away the single, unexpected tear that ran down his cheek from Blaine's parting words. He turned the faucet on, splashing his face with some cool water before staring at his reflection dripping with water in the mirror before looking back down at the mask. Blaine was right. He spent so much time trying to do things right in their relationship, yet he never gave much thought of what a relationship of equals would be like. To simply be himself and to have someone to accept that of him, to not have to change or pretend to be something that he wasn't.

He drew himself up resolutely and pulled some paper towels out of the dispenser resolutely to wipe his face. Whether this happiness that Blaine talked about could be found, he wasn't sure, but as he walked out of the bathroom, chucking his mask—just another reminder of the façade he put up for Blaine—in the trash, he wasn't going to pretend for once second that he didn't deserve to grab a hold of it and never let go once he did.

**o0o**

It didn't take long for Kurt to find Rachel and Finn at the bar. Rachel was sipping on a coke (sans her usual rum, he was sure) and Finn was cuddling up to her after already having a couple of drinks.

"Kurt," Rachel voiced her concern as soon as she spotted him. "I was wondering where you got to. Is everything all right?"

"Yes... And no... Blaine is here. I just talked to him."

"Oh, Kurt... I had no idea he would be here."

"I know," Kurt said calmly. "It's okay, we... We're okay, but I think I want to get out of here. It's too loud and crowded and the talk we had kind of wore me out."

"Yeah. Of course," she said, handing some money to the bartender. "Was it bad?" she asked as they moved away from the bar and headed for the front door.

"No, I think it helped. It's obvious that Blaine has moved on. He's going on to get his doctorate. He's happy, and it just helped me realize that I could be too. I just don't think tonight's the night though," Kurt said with a tired laugh, implying the idea that maybe meeting someone new would help him take his mind off his ex.

"We're obviously not cut out for this partying lifestyle anymore. At least not this guy," she said, patting Finn's spandex covered stomach affectionately. "What do you say we go to this amazing 24-hour diner down the block. I would literally kill for one of their veggie burgers." Kurt groaned.

"I don't think I've ever craved a chocolate shake and french fries so much in my life. Let's go." Kurt allowed Rachel to tuck her hand in his elbow and pull both he and Finn towards the exit, and on the way out, he was fairly certain he saw the glint of synthetic auburn hair flashing at him thanks to the rainbow strobe lights.

His mystery man.

Kurt sighed, eyeing the bearish-man who seemed to be wrapped up in conversation with an attractive forty-something-year-old, wearing a silvery suit that matched his short, salt and pepper hair.

Kurt sighed.

He didn't know what was more depressing: How fast other's seemed to move on from him, or the fact that he was able to make a mountain out of a molehill of a situation. Apparently, the brief "something" he felt with the man was as fanciful and misleading as the happiness that he assumed with Blaine. Kurt looked at Rachel and Finn giggling and the sparkle in their eyes that was only intended for one another. Their relationship had been ripped apart sewn back together so many times due to distance, obligations and responsibilities, school, work, and, quite literally, war, that it only made the fabric of their love that much stronger. They were proof that if two people were meant to be, they were meant to be.

There was once a time when he believed Blaine to be his Prince... his happily ever after. But all fairy tales come to an end. He was ready for the next chapter in his life - a new adventure. If Blaine thought there was a greater chance at happiness waiting for him, then he would find it when the time was right. He would find something better.

One day, his king would come.


End file.
